


Raaawr

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [12]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, Cockles, Coming Untouched, M/M, Not really though, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Top Misha Collins, doing it in the panel room on stage, mild breathplay (very mild), mild dom/sub tones, mild exhibitionism, tipsy!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 03:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: After a little show and tell on stage where he flashed Mish his novelty bear-print boxer-briefs in front of hundreds and hundreds of fans, Jensen can't shake a certain fantasy from his mind. Already tipsy, he drags Misha downstairs after hours for a little somethin'-somethin'.





	Raaawr

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's late guys, hope you enjoy. Thanks to my bestest beta ever [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo)

Jensen giggled, a low tipsy snort as he skulked theatrically across the dimmed hallway. Misha shook his head, following close behind, occasionally steering his lover away from the corners of walls and garbage bins.

“Shh, Mish, you’re so loud,” Jensen sniggered, a reprimanding frown thrown over his shoulder. Misha hadn’t made a sound. Having deviated from his forward motion, Jensen tripped over nothing, caught himself, and threw out his hands to either side. “No need to push me,” he grumbled. Misha was, in fact, three feet back. “We’ll get there, sweetheart,” promised a slightly inebriated Jensen.  

The intended destination happened to be the panel room from earlier in the day. How exactly had Misha said yes to this? And, wasn’t _he_ usually the one to suggest these whacky ideas?

“You sure about this?” he asked, once more. Same as he had before they left the room.

Jensen stopped, swayed, then spun around. “Oh I’m sure,” he purred, staring at Misha through dark lashes. His green eyes were bright, the whites faintly pink from lack of sleep and copious amounts of “apple juice”.

“You’re being brazenly hedonistic.” Msha wondered when their roles had changed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Quirking his lip, Jensen smoothly asked, “Am I not allowed to be?” Everything about him was a tease, a strobe light of sexual invitation. It wasn’t like Misha was going to deny him. Not that he ever had.

“I didn’t say that.”

Jensen grinned, his steps sliding backwards. He beckoned Misha as he did. Somehow, without falling or breaking eye contact, they’d crossed half the length of the hotel. Reaching the point where the hallway opened to a sort of back foyer. During the day, there would be lineups everywhere, backpacks tossed against the edges of walls. Fans waiting around, conversing in excited whispers, sometimes about him and Jensen.  

At this time of night, the panel room was closed. All four sets of double doors. Misha could only imagine what the fans would think if they knew about this. Thankfully, this area was off limits after one a.m. It was between two and three, he thought. He wasn’t sure.

Jensen reached the middle set of doors first and tried to open them. They were locked. He shook them loudly anyway, grunting. “No!” he cried out, “No, it’s ma sexy times.”

Stepping up behind his slightly taller pseudo-husband, Misha circled his arms around Jensen’s waist. “If you’re loud, we’ll get caught. Now, give me your credit card.”

“Ooh, am I being paid for?” Jensen flirted, shaking his ass, his fingers fumbling to pull out his wallet. Misha helped him out, thoroughly enjoying how tipsy Jensen was. Tipsy, verging on drunk.

With the credit card in hand, and his arms still framing Jensen’s torso, Misha lowered and ducked his head under Jensen’s arm to see the silver lock visible through the crack in the doors. He positioned the card and bent it strategically against the inner lock. After a few wiggles and curses, he caught the edge from the inside, easing it back to give slack. Jensen pushed his weight against the handle on the opposite door and popped it free, the door easing open.

“Oh yeah,” Jensen whispered, turning back to greet Mish with a wide smile. “Breaking… and _entering._ ” He winked.

At that remark, Misha couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. He manhandled Jensen through the door and closed it behind their backs. Laughter still huffed through his chest, but the feeling heavily swayed towards excitement over humour.

The room was almost black. Neon red exit signs gave some light, but not much. Rows of chairs patterned the otherwise sparse room, the metal frames catching the faint red glow. They adjusted to the darkness, waiting a moment to see better.

When Misha looked forward to see Jensen there in front of him, every instinct in him set off. He felt possessive and selfish in the same moment, wanting to take and give without waiting for either.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

<><><>

_Shiiiit._

When Mish looked at Jensen _that_ way, he knew to be a little nervous. Good nervous, where your insides flutter and twirl, and you feel like your cells are set to vibrate. The shadows were thick, giving him a sublime view of Misha. His dark expression half in shadow, half a tinge of red from the exit sign to the left.

Misha licked his lips, pressing and parting them. His dark eyes fixed and promising. Damn, the guy knew how to stir Jensen’s libido. Not that he wasn’t already rearing to go. But hey, he’d always been a horny drunk. Mish knew that.

“What now?” he wondered, muscles twitching with anticipation.

Mish smirked, an almost evil smile. For all his earlier reservations about this, Jensen knew his man to the core. If there was a way to fuck they hadn’t fucked before, Misha knew about it and had probably already propositioned him on it. He didn’t say no to much. Not anymore.

“Now,” Mish began, taking a step forward. Stalking really. “Now, I’m taking you on the stage.”

“Take me _to_ the stage?” Jensen corrected.

His coworker, and much more, gleamed with the truth. “No no. _Take_ you _on_ the stage was very accurate.”

“Mmmn.” _Jesus._ Biting his lip, Jensen let Misha take his hand and guide him down the side of the room up to the elevated platform of the stage. A few props still littered the black-cloth covered floor. A white screen on the wall at the back. Faint white security lights domed from above, barely more than a nightlight.

A wave of booze-induced imbalance caused him to sway, as he watched Misha clear stuff out of the way.

“If only there was a table. You know, something to—”

“Bend you over on?” finished Misha, smiling across the stage.

Jensen smirked, feeling coy. “Mm-hmm.”

“Tell me,” Misha placed a chair off to the side and walked back, his attention unwavering. “How long exactly have you had this fantasy and waited to bring it up.”

Crap. Jensen swallowed, his eyes darting away from the inquisition. It wasn’t as if he could own up to having that first dream _welllll_ before they’d truly became friends. Besides, a dream was inadvertent, helpless.

“Jensen…” prompted Misha. He wasn’t a big fan of being patient in this regard.

“Um, let’s just say… a while.” A smile crept into his expression and he caught Misha’s eyes again.

Misha moved to stand in front of him. “How long?”

He shuffled, coughed. “Ya know, not forever. Like a couple years, a few maybe… okay several. Okay… since the beginning.” There was a pause. Misha imploring stare infallible. “Okay, okay! Since before we were even together. Now stop putting me on the spot here and let’s get it on, Dmitri!” He growled, bared his teeth playfully.

Despite his indomitable attitude leading here, Misha laughed. “Fuck I love you,” he murmured, low as if it were a reflection on the moment more than a declarative statement.

They did that often, mumbling _I love you’s_ in passing as the feeling rose abruptly in an otherwise casual or common moment. Often it was exactly those kind of moments.

“Damn right you do.”

“Let’s get started then,” Misha delivered the line the way a doctor might before an exam. Detached, yet rousing the same trill of nerves down his spine. This fucker knew what he was doing.

Once, okay. _Once_ , they did the doctor-patient thing. Turned out Jensen had a weird kink. Okay, a lot of weird kinks thanks to Misha. Man, life was delightfully strange these days.

Misha straightened his posture and pushed his hands into his pockets. Jensen waited for some instruction. In the meantime, they stared at each other.

“Since this is your fantasy, are there any particular details I should know?” asked Mish.

“Uhh. Whatever you want to do works for me.”

“Don't be indifferent, Jensen. You know I'll deliver and I'm never one to judge. Whatever, _however_ you want,” he promised.

Fuck. What did _he_ want? A million sinful scenes came to mind. Both of them in various twisted positions. Some with his hands tied, others gratuitously romantic, all candles and music. And yet others fantasies were raw and obscene. Demeaning. Horrifically and enticingly pornographic.

It was like being brought to a buffet and wanting everything. “I don't know,” he finally said, his voice a whisper. “I know I want you a hell of a lot closer to me than you are now.”

Misha smiled with his eyes and moved closer. Inches away now. Much, much better.

Caught by Misha’s fixed gaze, Jensen felt rooted in place. Waiting, his skin crawling with tension.

“Strip.”

He took a sharp breath, then looked behind him. At the vast dark empty room. It occurred to him the room may not be empty. There were impenetrable shadows everywhere.

He felt the zing of alcohol in his veins. Okay, he thought. Fuck… okay. Turning back, he searched Misha’s eyes and brought his hands to the buckle of his belt—same as he had earlier that day.

Swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat, Jensen unzipped and paused there. This is where he'd stopped before. He remembered the moment. How buoyant he'd felt, the raucous cheers at his back, the wrinkles of laughter on Mish’ face. It came back at once and he remembered how very public this was.

“Turn around,” directed Misha, his voice deep, thick.

Jensen did as told. Unzipped, bear-print boxers flashing the rows of chairs, he felt his breath quicken. _Fuck_.

This was a wicked high, steep and enticing to the darker parts of him. He was hard already, his cock straining the damn novelty bear boxers. It made the beast look deformed and under different circumstances he would laugh.

He looked forward.

Damn, if it weren't for all those chairs. Rows and rows of empty chairs. A phantom audience about to get an eyeful.

With intangible familiarity, he felt Misha's impatience behind him. His hands shook as he pushed his jeans down. From the weight of his belt, they dropped with a clanky thud. He toed out of them and kicked them over to the side. Moving now to his plaid button-up, he worked it open. He wanted to turn back, to gauge Misha's enjoyment. But he knew better.

The shirt came off. His t-shirt next. And then he was standing there, in front of never-ending shadows, in only his boxers and socks. Plus an erection.

Okay, he coached himself, socks now. Those went slowly, his balance hindered.

But now there was only one item left. His _rawr_ boxers. Jensen felt Misha creep closer, the warmth of his body nearly touching Jensen’s back. Like an electrical current humming over his skin.

“Yes?” Misha’s question was familiar, always there in these sort of moments.

Jensen blinked at the room, alcohol swimming in his veins. “Yes.”

Misha took his wrists and pulled his arms back, securing him with one hand easily. With the other, he reached around and took the edge of Jensen’s boxers between his fingers, pinching the elastic waistband at the centre.

Oh Christ, he already felt alarmingly naked. About to be totally bare. Why the fuck was it turning him on so much? Sometimes he wondered whether he wanted them to get caught. God knows it would make life easier. Albeit very insane, but he was caring less and less about that as the years dragged on.

Misha tugged and stretched the boxer-briefs, lowering them down his hips and thighs a little at a time. The bear print wrinkled and became unrecognizable.

His cock, thick and rigid, popped free of the briefs and he flinched, reflexively wanting to cover himself. Misha tightened his grip around Jensen’s wrists, letting him drown in the peculiar euphoria of exhibitionism.

Jesus fuck there were so many chairs, so much space. And the shadows. God, he felt his dick thicken more, hovering parallel to the stage floor. Kicking with his now frantic heartbeat.

“Mish…”

Behind him, Misha spoke, “Yes?” arousal warping his voice, making it gruff.

“Touch me.”

His work husband, a favourite nickname of theirs, chuckled softly. “Oh I plan to.” There was a breath of silence and he added, “But first, I want you to take these off and close your eyes.”

Misha released his wrists and he followed through. The boxers, a smooth kind of Lycra, felt silky in his fingers. The fabric still warm.

Standing upright, he cast his eyes around the room before he closed them. It was harder then to picture emptiness. Knowing Misha, this had been on purpose.

“Over the years,” said Misha, “you’ve opened yourself more and more to me, to them, to everyone in your life. When we first met, you were reserved and, dare I say, a bit brusque.”

He opened his mouth to counter but felt Misha's touch on his skin. The pad of a finger tracing his curves. His breath came faster, rushing past his lips.

Two hands swept down his sides, over his hips. The heat of Misha's touch left a wake of goosebumps. His erection hopped, and he imagined being watched like this. A statue of arousal being carved by Misha, one stroke at a time.

“But then I figured you out.” Misha skirted his fingers around Jensen’s thighs, nails burning a path over his quivering abdomen and scratching up his chest.

He was cold and on fire simultaneously.

Proving the statement true, Misha closed his fingers gently around Jensen’s throat; a known unspoken pleasure of his. Something he never could bring himself to admit.

Fuuuuuck. All his senses fired at once, a mix of pleasure and blissful fabricated panic. He moaned, a rough animalistic plea. For anything he could get.

Misha never squeezed, but he was firm. That was what Jensen liked. Danneel had discovered this one drunken night. Both of them wild and savage after three bottles of wine, fucking hard on the tiled kitchen floor. She reached out for anything to get her hands on—found his neck in the process. Shocking the hell out of them both, he’d practically jackknifed off the floor, coming so hard his balls hurt. Man, what a night.

Releasing him, Misha planted both hands on his shoulders, turned him to the left, and exerted some pressure, telling him silently what to do.

Jensen dropped carefully to his knees. The stage floor was hard and unforgiving against his bones. He heard Mish unzip, and a few soft thuds as clothes were obviously discarded on the floor.

What a sight that would be. Misha stark naked on stage. Christ, he wanted a fucking video.

A hand captured his face, his chin angled up. “Mish,” he pleaded, wanting the taste of him on his tongue.

“You're flushed, you know. Gorgeous. Fuck, there aren't words for how goddamn enticing you look right now.”

“Never felt this wired,” he admitted. “You're some kinda drug, Mish, you know that?”

“Well, you're also partly drunk,” said Misha, “but thank you.” A smile echoed in his voice. “Now, be very salacious and open your mouth for me.”

“Yes sir,” he smirked, knowing the possessive gleam it gave Misha's stark blue eyes every time he used the title.

Linking his fingers at the base of his spine, he parted his lips, hyper aware of the cool draft from the industrial vents overhead.

Misha stroked through his hair before taking hold of him; one hand under his chin, the other behind his head. Guiding him close.

The blunt tip of Misha's familiar cock was plush, velvety warm and sticky wet with precome. It smeared against his lips as Misha pushed himself inside.

Always, he was startled by the hard, long shaft moving past his teeth, forcing his jaw open. It never seemed to end and he still struggled, after so many years, to take Misha all the way, not for lack of trying.

He strained not to cough, holding back his gag reflex and determined to keep still. Thinking stillness had to be the trick. Misha had given him tips, since the man gave head like a pro. But for whatever reason, Jensen wasn't a porn star in the blowing department.

“Breathe out through your nose, babe.” He did. “Open wider, take a breath and don't move.”

Jensen did exactly that, feeling Misha inch deeper, fighting the presence pushing up against the back of his throat.

The harder it was, the more aroused he became. A moan, buried in his chest, struggling to escape rumbled in the room. Echoed.

Misha cursed. “Oh fuck, Jensen… just a little… mmmore.”

Tears burned the corners of his eyes from the strain. His dick wept, and the slick fluid slowly dripped to the black floor.

Misha's fingers clawed the back of his head, clamping his jaw, and he pulled Jensen closer.

His body fought against the lack of air with faint tremors and involuntary twitches but feeling the tickle of Misha’s trimmed hair against his wet lips meant victory. It was laughable how proud of himself he was.

A rumble of sound vibrated in his throat, going no further. Misha savoured it, lingering. Jensen could hear him panting in waves of pleasure, his fingernails scratching against Jensen’s skin.

The hot weight on his tongue kicked and flexed, a dribble of precome warmed the back of his throat.

Abruptly, Misha drew back, leaving a trail of sweet, heady taste in his mouth.

He couldn't help it then, his eyes flying open as he caught his breath. Misha was a glorious mess above him, toned chest heaving, hair disheveled.

“Didn't say you could open your eyes,” Mish reprimanded, breathless.

Jensen tried to feel guilty. He wasn't. “Needed to see you.” He stared upward. “Keep going. I'm gettin’ better,” he winked.

Misha smiled. “I’d fucking say so.”

“Only took several years,” he joked.

Looking on him with amused affection, Misha worked his hips a little, from side to side, the head of his cock teasing Jensen’s lips. Both of them smiling.

Jensen flashed Mish a vixenish look and opened his mouth, his lips closing around the offered sex and sucking hard. He didn't relent or hold back. Same as Misha, Jensen knew what his man liked.

Keeping their eyes locked, Jensen sucked and licked his way to triumph. Twice more he let Misha sink deep and enjoy him without restraint.

Jensen forgot where they were, somehow. He blacked out in a way. The world gone except for the cock making use of his mouth and the searing blue eyes set on him. Enough time had to have passed, considering the strain in his kneecaps and burning in his thighs.

Always aware of his every shift, Misha took notice of his growing discomfort. As much as they’d like to imagine themselves otherwise, they were not as young as they used to be. Misha pulled out, his thumb moving to wipe the glisten from Jensen’s lips.

“All the way?” Misha wondered, a glint of challenge in his eyes.

Fucking right. “Of course. Why? Having second thoughts there, Mish?” Jensen taunted him. He held Misha’s stare and shuffled to the centre of the stage.

“Never. Just want to make sure you don’t regret this tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“Even when you walk up here and see a telling white stain on this very black fabric.” Misha rubbed his big toe against the cloth in question.

Jensen blushed. “Especially then,” he murmured.

“Hmm. I think it’s fair to say I have thoroughly corrupted you.”

“Yes,” he chuckled, “you definitely have.”

Absently, he’d reached for his withering cock, giving it a reviving few strokes while they spoke. Misha’s eyes flashed down, watching the inadvertent show. “Oh, I fucking wish I could set up a video camera for this.”

“Now _that’s_ dangerous,” he tsked.

Misha nodded, agreeing, but Jensen could see the idea had already took root in his plethora of vivid fantasies. One day, Jensen thought, one day Misha would convince him and on some later day, when their thumping hips were giving it hard on youtube, Jensen would say, “I fucking told you so.”

“Hands and knees, lover.”

Jensen cringed, “Don’t call me that, you weirdo.” Still, he faced the ghost audience and lowered his arms, splaying his fingers over the dark fabric.

Moving in behind him, Misha settled on his knees and gave Jensen a light smack on the ass. “I’ll call you whatever I’d like,” he said playfully. “But I suppose I know what you prefer.”

The blush crept up his chest, a hot wave moving to singe his cheeks. “Oh yeah” he murmured, feigning an air of innocence, “what’s that?”

Misha crowded over him, their skin melding together, breath tickling his ear. “Huuuusband,” Mish droned, teasing.

Damn it. Yeah, that always did him in. Jensen craned his neck to bring his lips to Misha, awkwardly demanding a kiss. Misha’s tongue nudged past his lips and teeth, claiming dominance of the kiss. They parted abruptly, both of them low on air, their eyes locked for a moment before Misha flashed a grin and moved back into position.

He waited for Misha to grab necessities from his discarded jeans. Meanwhile, he faced out towards the darkness only broken by neon red and shiny metal. The room was massive, stretching out to an impenetrable blackness, the rows of chairs seeming to fade, disappearing in a freaky illusion.

“Changed my mind,” said Misha, one arm looping around Jensen’s chest and hauling him back to his knees.

He whined, “Mish, I’m an old man, you know.”

“You’ll live. Besides, what good is being up here if you’re not beautifully presented to our attentive audience?”

 _Mmgnh_. Jensen swallowed his nerves and tried to be funny, “Never heard them this damn quiet.”

Mish slid a hand down Jensen’s front, his muscles flexing involuntarily. “It’s cause they want to hear every moan and whimper.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, as Misha closed a hand around his length, stroking him gently. It didn’t last. The hand vanished, and yes… he did whimper. Faintly.

Kneeled behind him, Mish kissed along the ridge of Jensen’s shoulder while his fingers tiptoed down his spine. There was no stopping then, Misha continued his path… determined. His fingers slid between Jensen’s crease.

His cock swelled, full and obvious to the room. Exhilaration raced through his veins. Misha teased him for a moment, disappeared from his skin, only to come back prepared. Slick fingers, cool but turning warm, pushed between his cheeks. Jensen lost the ability to breathe, the air caught in his mouth.

Wet friction brushed against his hole, his entire body straining with potent, sudden need. “Ah, fuck…” he murmured, his head feeling heavy.

Misha kissed the back of his neck, staying close, as he nudged against Jensen’s tight entrance. After coaxing him to relax some, his finger slipped inside. Come eased from the head of Jensen’s cock, trickling down to the ridge. It would feel so good to run his fingers over the crown of his cock. Damn, he wished Misha had tied him up, but maybe—given the public nature of their location—restraints would make a hasty escape a little tricky.

Thighs starting to burn, Jensen swayed in place as Misha fingered him. A single digit at first, quickly becoming two. “Oh my god,” he breathed. Arousal flared, creeping higher. Then three fingers and he nearly fell forward. “Mish—” he pleaded.

“Ask nicely, husband.”

He growled. “Fuck me, for chrissakes… fuck me already.”

Misha roped an arm around his chest and rammed his fingers in hard, stretching and filling Jensen in a single blast of sensation. He twisted them, working Jensen more than necessary. “I said ask nicely…”

 _Goddammit!_ Jensen heard a whimper rise from his throat. “Please, Mish. Oh god, I’m gonna—” Words cut short as Misha brushed over his prostate, his mind blanking. “Ahh-hh, don’t-don’t-don’t,” he chanted, “fuck I’ll come if you—”

In a slow motion, Misha pulled out. Jensen panted as he waited, trying to ready himself for one hell of a finale. He was never ready, Misha would always take his breath away.

Fucking Jensen senseless was just what the guy did best.

Misha grabbed his hip in one hand, free hand guiding himself. Jensen’s lungs froze as he felt the slick head of Misha’s cock, feverishly hot spreading him open. The bluntness greeted his tingling hole, his body still a little tight from the havoc of his nerves. Misha was slow, pressing and retreating, nudging, pushing to the point of _just_ in—making Jensen groan and wriggle his hips impatiently.

“Dammit, Mish…” he mumbled, reaching back to grab Misha’s hard thighs.

“Well fucking relax then you horny fiend.”

He chuckled, feeling dizzy. But the laughter faded on his tongue. “Ohhh…”

Using his fingers in tandem, Misha worked him again, quickly, before sliding his cock in alongside his index, then pulling back. Jensen’s eyes fell shut, his focus locked on the warm, unyielding sex slowly pushing into him. He felt stretched, his insides hot with the presence of Misha’s cock.

“Mmng… almost,” Misha told him, his left arm roping around Jensen’s chest, guiding him back.

Falling into an exquisite stupor, Jensen impaled himself on Misha’s erection—the entirety of it filling him. It was bliss, euphoric and dreamlike. His exhaustion cemented him in Misha’s lap, his thighs not willing to work.

Misha, thankfully, took hold of his hips and did the work. Upright on his knees, he grappled for some hold of Misha behind him, as the man he loved began to fuck him in earnest. Sinking deep, drawing back, never all the way out.

“Is this how you pictured it?” asked Misha, his breath huffing and choppy.

The slap of their skin echoed in the room, his broken moans and curses too, made it to the shadows. _Yes_ , he thought… _fucking yes, this is how I pictured it_. Looking out at the empty chairs, he wickedly picture them full. The more he imagined dozens, hundreds, of eyes on the two of them—everyone watching him be fucked—the more he wanted to come and scream and lose himself.

Misha paused for an answer. He quickly rambled, “Yes, god, yes…”

“Good,” Misha growled, rutting hard against him, levering the snap of his hips with the arm braced around Jensen’s torso.

‘Ohh fuck,” he mumbled, rocking in place. His body was at the whim of the devilish, creative man behind him. And he fucking loved it. Strong runner’s thighs bashing repeatedly against his ass with a dull smack. A thick cock claiming him, making him feel helplessly aroused. His skin started to glisten with sweat, the neon red lights glinting across his thighs and stomach.

“Mish, babe…”

“For this fantasy, my horny better half, you are _not_ allowed to touch yourself.”

“Fuck,” he snapped, “No, please. I promise you can… another time—”

“Don’t pretend I don’t know exactly what gets you off.”

Jesus! Stupid Misha and his domineering all-knowingness. “I-I don’t… I can’t,” he fumbled, starting to squirm with taut pleasure.

The way Misha’s arms closed around him, embracing him completely, he couldn’t touch himself even if he wanted. Misha moved with precision, his thrusts hard, spaced out... making Jensen wait in vivid torment between each glorious penetration. The stretch of time never the same, the angle always slightly different. But always _, always_ , rubbing against his prostate.

From the iron hold around his chest, he was robbed of a full breath. Instead, he gasped with each thrust, eyes blinking in delirium, his chest red and heaving in shallow pumps. Jensen glanced down, the world unfocused, to watch his flushed cock bouncing stiffly towards the phantom crowd.

Misha groaned, hips driving upward faster and faster. His feverish length rapidly moving in and out, slick and hard. Jensen felt distraught with pleasure, endless friction cranking him to the edge.

“Mmngh, fuck…” Misha grunted, moving faster… rougher. Their skin smacking obscenely, damp with sweat. “When I… _ahhhffuuck._ When I come… d-don’t move.”

How could he? Jensen was nothing but skin and liquid fire, muscles lax and straining at the same time. Misha fucked him harder, his hard sex seeming to swell as he barrelled towards release.

“Ohhhh god,” Misha yelled, his arms almost unbearably cramped around Jensen’s torso, squashing his ribs. Falling still, Misha moaned… the rough rumble of sound neverending, reverberating against Jensen’s back. “Fuck, don’t move…” he cautioned again, his voice strained and thick.

Shaking, but otherwise still, Jensen felt—with every nerve in his oversensitive body—the broken spurts of Misha’s release. How his cock flexed, released, stretched Jensen and filled him over and over. Both of them locked in position, neither of them moving, feeling every blinding nuance of Misha’s release. Only after, when Jensen was warm and wet, did Misha draw back… continuing to fuck him gently, his slippery, fading erection gliding easily through the mess. Come leaked down the back of his thighs, and in that moment, Jensen looked out across the massive room and all the shadows.

Pressure, swollen and steeped in ecstasy rushed through his veins. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuckkkk,” he grated each curse, thrashing in Misha’s hold, his orgasm baited on the edge of _almost_ and he needed _, fucking needed_ , to be touched. A hard grip, a light stroke—something! “Goddammit Misha!” he roared.

Misha moved, but not to satisfy him… instead, to plaster one arm across his hips, and one hand to clasp his throat.

“Uhng-hhng-hmnng...” Broken, panicky groans ripped past his lips, his body straining and taut. Tears crept to the corners of his eyes, and he focused as hard as he ever had in his life. Jensen felt it all, from the gentle pressure over his windpipe, causing his voice to come out like static, to the wet thick heat buried in him. Come snaking down to his knees now, Misha’s muscled forearm hard and ripped across his pelvis.

“Don’t force it,” coached Misha, his breath ghosting warm against the nape of his neck. “Relax, feel me.”

Jensen’s eyes rolled back, the auditorium fading to whiteness. He sank against Misha’s chest, felt a sob clamour up his throat. All at once, in the moment he gave up, a surge of feverish pleasure burst through the plateau. “Uhhnnnnn god, fucking god…” he screamed, his cock weeping with come, not shooting with any force, but weak little kicks, leaking his release to the floor. Some of it dripping on his thighs.

“Ohhh, f-f-fuck,” he whimpered, out of breath, trembling, emotions rising fast and drowning him. He knew to expect it, but when he felt streaks of tears run down his cheeks he still felt ridiculous. He always rose hard and fell fast.  

Misha already had a hand on his face, fingers brushing over the evidence of an emotional breakdown. “Shhh, we’re good. Everything’s good… everything was… very, very amazing.” He closed his arms around Jensen, again, softly this time. Kisses were doled out over the arch of his back, to his shoulders, the column of his neck and into his hair. “You’re okay,” he soothed.

Shit, of course he was okay. That was the problem. He was _more_ than okay. He was falling back down from a high the likes of which he’d never known and wasn’t just ready yet for the crash. He let the tears fall. Christ, Mish had seen him in worse states than this. It was the booze, he remembered, that was what sealed the deal on this eye leakage business.

“I love you too much,” he mumbled, all sniffly and really super naked.

Misha laughed. “Not possible. Come on, we should probably get dressed. I actually have no idea how long we’ve been in here.”

Shit. That was not good. “Ugh. Yeah.” He wiped his face, and freed himself from Misha, shakily getting to his feet. He looked around, taking stock of the aftermath. “Well.” He sighed. “We fucking made a mess, didn’t we.”

There were literal pools of come on the black stage cover. Clothes everywhere. Sticky bottle of lube lying on it’s side, cap open, leaking. Not to mention his own skin, carrying the wonderful glisten of whorish design.

“Wasn’t that the plan?”

Jensen laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed. He reached for his boxers and pulled them on, despite the cooling wet patches on his thighs. As he snapped the band, and took a gander at the stretched face of the bear over his now sated cock, he met Misha’s already set gaze and they both broke out into giggles.

“Rawwwwr,” he growled, giving his hips a salacious little hump.

Misha doubled over, trying to pick up his clothes in the—

A door rattled at the far end of the room.

_Ah! Shit!_

Panicking, they both swore and grabbed whatever they could, then raced barefoot to the back doors. Jensen muttering, “fuck-fuck-fuck,” under his breath all the way until they wound up safe in their room.

Heaving for air, they laughed and collapsed on the bed. “Fuuuuck, that was close, man,” he said.

All at once, Misha clamoured off and stood straight and full of tension, blue eyes wide. “Please tell me you grabbed the lube?”

 _Uh…_ “Fuck.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. :) . I have another one I hope to post soon too. just small but I was in a cockles mood the other day so I wrote a lot.


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